


The Fears Which Create Us

by TimeLordsWife



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Kid Mycroft, Kid Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-06 14:06:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1860795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimeLordsWife/pseuds/TimeLordsWife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say you are born with only two fears in the world, loud noises, and falling.</p><p>This is the story of Evelyn Lestrade and her journey through life surrounded by the influence of the Holmes' </p><p>This is my first fic, I'll aim to upload as soon as possible but being an A Level Student means I have other priorities, please leave feedback and enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

They say you are born with only two fears in the world, loud noises, and falling.

You can imagine my horror then as I watched the closest thing I've had to a brother in a long time hurtle towards the floor from the roof of St Barts, falling, tumbling, freewheeling, his bones crashing, crushing, his body lying there, still and silent and then the harsh rattling noise of my skull being invaded by a snipers bullet, then the darkness as it overcomes my body.

I'm the girl that's been to too many funerals, lost too many people, lost too many battles, grieved my mothers and brothers death at war, aided my dad in his battle against alcohol and depression, viewed him getting better, before relapsing another two times, felt the burst of pride as he announced himself clean and joined the police force, detective inspector he became, I joined the army for two years before setting in London in Baker Street, meeting my future husband and fighting the baddies, before the bad guys fought back. 

My name is Evelyn Lestrade, my dad was Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, now I will be joining my mother and brother soon in the next life, I hope. This is my story, and this is how it ends.


	2. The Memories Which Remain With Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn is ready for Nursery, but will she meet someone who is going to be of great influence to the rest of her life?

"Here's your lunch"

"Here's your backpack"

"Have lots of fun"

"Listen to the teachers"

"Be a good girl"

"Make lots of friends"

"Give me and your mummy a hug"

"We'll be back in a few hours"

"Off you go, we love you sweetie"

Four year old me just stood there, smiling and nodding, eager to please, never wanting to disappoint. Even from such a young age I understood the way the world works, you impress people, you do well, people like you, but some people still don't like you. I gave my parents my biggest smile, two front teeth still missing, "You've been kissing too many boys" my father would tell me every time I lost another tooth. I gave my dad a hug first, then my mother enveloped me within her arms, i struggled, then was released before turning and walking inside. If only i knew how much I would grow to miss my mothers hugs, i'd breathe in her flowery scent on a more regular basis, squeeze her that little bit tighter every time she hugged me, exchange the "I love you"s on a more frequent basis. The beauty of Hindsight. 

I entered the Nursery through the door, straight into a cloakroom, a kind woman, Mrs Robins? Robin? Robinson? She was kind, average height, average weight, but with a smile which could make even the coldest persons heart warm up slightly. She showed me to my coat peg, at this nursery, we each get a designated peg, and above the peg, we had our name tags, which consisted of, of course, our name, and a small cartoon drawing of an object, mine was a purple train. 

After I'd placed my rucksack on the peg, I noticed the peg to my right. It had a strange name on it, like something out of a book, like the ones my dad reads to me on a night, it sounded posh, but I was never one to judge people. The picture on the name tag was of, I think, an apple, but it was orange... On the peg, a backpack, similar size and shape to mine, but it looked expensive, also posh, with intricate drawings of pirates and ships and swords and hats and parrots, lots of parrots on it, but it wasn't just the parrots and general posh-ness of the bag, but also the thing that hung behind the bag. The thing I am on about is the black umbrella that hung elegantly off the peg. But this wasn't an ordinary umbrella, it was the blackest black i have ever seen, if there was a picture of the colour black in the dictionary, they should just take a picture of this umbrella because wow, its black, with a mahogany handle with the most perfect curve i have ever seen! Again, posh!

Once I had finished marveling in the awesomeness of the umbrella, I walked through the entrance and was greeted by what most people would call fun, but to myself, it was madness! To the far left, a painting area with brightly dressed small children chasing each other, paint splattered across their outstretched hands, more paint on their face rather than the paper. To the far right, a kitchen, in which had children baking with someone who barely looked like an adult, if only they knew at the time that in a couple of years, there would be an accident whilst making cookies which would result in the fire engine being called out and the school shut down for 3 days, but thats in the future anyway.

About halfway through the afternoon, we all sat around on the floor for "Story time", by the end of the book, (Spoiler: They all lived happily ever after) several children were asleep, three were picking their noses, one was crying, and several more were just sat there, staring into space... The young teacher bravely asked her young students "Does anybody have any questions about this lovely book?". Silence is what greeted her ears. Until one hand slowly reached up above our heads, the young boy, who I was sat next to, decided he had a question, he was very tall but skinny, messy, curly, black hair, high cheekbones and a cheeky look in his eye, "We're going to be good friends" I thought. "Yes, Sherlock, what is your question?" the teacher asked, clearly nervous about what slosh could come out of this young childs mouth. "Sherlock? Sherlock? Where do I know that name from?" I pondered, of course, it was the young boys name tag who is next to mine, Umbrella, Parrot, Pirate boy! Sherlocks cheeks reddened slightly at the use of his name before he smirked and responded saying "What if Alice wasn't in wonderland, but was actually in her mind palace instead?", the teacher didn't know how to respond, she stuttered, restarted, and stuttered again. Sherlock and myself both giggled at the teacher who has been baffled by the 4 year old child. She did not appreciate the laughter. "Because, Sherlock Holmes, people live the lives they dream when they do as they told, they don't end up living happily ever after when they misbehave and ask silly questions" she said, her face reddening with anger at this pupil, "Is that what happened to you Miss" I responded cheekily, there is only one way to make friends, and thats to impress them, but honestly, to this day I have never witnessed a teacher look so stressed at a couple of children on their first day of Nursery. Standing up, Mrs Robins/Roberts/Robinson pointed her manicured finger at the two of us, "Evelyn Lestrade and Sherlock Holmes, go sit in the corner and think about what you have said". We stood up proudly, we are the naughty ones, we are proud, everyone is beneath us, this will be fun.

Making our way to the corner, Sherlock turned to me and stuck out his hand, "Sherlock William Scott Holmes, Pirate" he announced, I grasped his outstretched hand boldly, "Evelyn Matilda Woodley-Lestrade, Fairy" I responded before firmly shaking his small hand.


	3. The Friendships Which Strengthen Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life goes by, and friendships bloom, but only because of an upsetting turn of events

Weeks went by, we caused further mischief, the class goldfish was killed, and was ceremoniously buried by one of the staff, Sherlock made 3 kids cry by saying that he knew the fish had been flushed down the toilet, that resulted in another timeout, I think it was maybe his seventh so far? We didn't see each other outside of nursery, but we enjoyed the time we spent together, pushing the other children too hard on the swing sets so when they fell off, we could use them. We talked about what most four year olds would talk about, politics and our hate for the way sand always sticks to your fingers after you've played in the sandpit.

I had no idea sherlock had an older brother, it's the kind of thing someone usually knows, but not me. Mycroft Holmes was his name, and he was tall, with a mop of Ginger, unruly, curly hair and an awkward essence to him, clearly at that awful stage in life between boy and man, just hitting puberty, an outbreak of spots and clothes that are either slightly too big or slightly too small to fit correctly. And yet, Mycroft still seemed self-sure and pleased with himself, I noticed how the other children would look at him on the playground and the way that Mycroft could shut them up by a single glance and the raising of an eyebrow, it was terrifying, it was threatening, it was nerve wrecking, it was fantastic! The elder Holmes was only 6 years our senior so although at the time, when I was in Nursery and he was in his final year of Junior School, the age gap seemed huge and weird, as we grew older, we would grow closer, seeking comfort in each others arms, understanding but never judging one another. I've always believed in soul mates you see, not in a romantic sense, that only happens in the movies, I just think that they're certain people in life who you will simply connect with more that anyone else, and you just know it isn't a typical thing but you understand each other perfectly, whether they're taking about starting a war with Jamaica or about how clothes sizes vary depending what shop you go into. It's okay you know, this person won't always be your significant other, I was just lucky that me and mycroft found each other, it could be your friend, like Sherlock, or your sibling or teacher or parent or just anyone you've ever interacted with. But as we grew older, my life changed significantly, I needed support, I needed a break, I needed my life back.

I was fourteen years old, sherlock had just turned fifteen and mycroft was nearly twenty and studying hard through university, he wanted to work for the government. You see, my mum was a soldier, my hero, she fought alongside my brother, arm in arm. As soon as my brother had turned 16, he applied for the army, and was in at 17. My mum did the same but many years before. It all happened just a week after my brother turned 19, they were meant to he coming home in 3 weeks for their annual leave, we'd got a holiday cottage in the country booked for a week, we had all our holiday clothes and everything ready, nothing was meant to go wrong, were to ordinary for anything like this to happen to us. It shouldn't have happened. It's not fair.

On July second 1989, a underground mine exploded on the side of a road that one army squad were doing the daily sweep of, my mother took the front of the squad, my brother behind her. The only blessing was the fact that it was all over before the pain could register in their blown out brains. 

At 11:58AM, we got the knock on the door, dad had just made himself and me some cheese on toast with beans, his speciality! The police officers strolled in respectfully, my dads a detective inspector you see, and perched themselves on the sofa, where mum and me would watch Disney movies when she was on leave. 

"I'm sorry to have to inform you..."

"Evelyn, why don't you let me talk to the nice police officers"

"Why don't you go and watch telly mine and your mums room"

"I'll be through soon"

I left the room. I was young. But I was not stupid. I was entering what my dad had called "mums room", but I already knew that it was no longer hers, that I'd given her my last ever hug before she left the house 5 weeks ago to go to war again. I just sat there in the middle of the bed, not knowing exactly how I was feeling, I was hurting so bad inside, but I was not crying, I had to be strong for dad, my chest was hurting, rage, that's what I could register, rage and hatred at the world, my mum never did anything wrong, why would he take her away from us so early?? I knew my brother was in the same squad as mum, but I assumed he would be okay, he would be coming home soon, or perhaps not, "wife and son" I heard the police officer say through the thin walls, and I just suddenly felt really tired, like the world had drained me of everything that I had ever had.

Half an hour later I heard the front door close, then a few moment later, I felt the bed lower and groan slightly as my silver haired dad sat crossed legged next to me. Slowly, he touched my hand, before grasping hold of it and lifting it to his face, he knew that I knew, no more needed to be said at this moment in time. I don't know how long passed, but we just sat there, me with my arms wrapped violently around my dads middle, his hands caressing my hair, whispering reassurances into my ear, "they're in a better place now"

"They're not in pain anymore"

"God only takes the good ones early to be his angels"

If only I knew how much I would hear those phrases in the coming months.

I didn't cry, I just sat there, if I cried, it would make things even harder for dad, my dads strong, physically and mentally, but even the pressures of his job have never brought him this close to a mental breakdown, at this moment in life, I finally understood what true love meant, love meant that you care for another persons emotions more that your own, no matter how painful the choices you make may be.

For the next two weeks whilst dad sorted out the funerals and wills and what not, I practically became an official resident at the Holmes' manor.


	4. The Emotions That Destry us

Becoming a Holmes resident was kind of fun. They lived in a big manor house, just on the outskirts of the city, 6 bedrooms, so I didn't have to share with anyone or take the couch, I got my own room, and it was perfect, simple but clean, white washed walls, dark mahogany furniture, crisp white sheets, wardrobes with endless amounts of room for everything I owned, and a dressing table, it looked antique, maybe it was? I wasn't going to ask, although Sherlock and Mycrofts parents are incredibly friendly and warm towards me, I have caught glimpses of coldness in their eyes towards their two sons, when we were out of the house, just Sherlock Myc and me, they would never mention anything about their parents. 

One day at school, before all this happened, Sherlock came into class with a scratch down the side of his face. "An experiment", he claimed, but I know him better than that, sherlock has never been incredibly expressive when it comes to emotions, but I can always see it in the look in his eyes, his eyes lose their sparkle and shine, and his smile, that little crooked smile that he does, doesn't warm my heart when he's lying, but I forgive him, because he's sherlock and I know that he would only keep something from me for either mine or his safety.

Three days after I moved in with the Holmes' was my Mother and Brothers funeral. 

Dad and me waited at the Holmes' manor, our black funeral car was coming to pick us up any minute so we could be driven in front of mum and Nico to the church. Dad looked smart, but hurt, but strong, trying to be strong so I wouldn't hurt as much. He was in his 'funeral suit' as he would call it. It was black, nothing special, just black, with a plain white shirt that mum had forced him to but many years earlier because "anything other than white is disrespectful" and a deep blue Safire satin tie, the same colour as Nico's birth stone, September. He wore his wedding ring proudly, and i wore mums wedding ring on my right hand ring finger. Dad also wore a strong ruby coloured pin on his tie, the colour for July, mums colour, this way, they were still together and right next to his heart. I wore a knee length black dress, nothing fancy, a bit of lace along the bottom hem, and ruby coloured shoes. 

The car arrived, the final goodbye had begun.

 

Their coffins were brought through the streets of London in their respective hearses, crowds had gathered to watch. Silence. I've never heard London so quite, the silence scared me because it speaks the truth. Two of the most important people in my life are dead, and there is nothing I can do to bring them back. I'm helpless. Silence speaks when words can't they say. We sat in the car in front, and as we slowly approached the crowd in the car, a respectful applause erupted around us on the outside of the car. They were clapping for mum and Nico, celebrating their life, celebrating their courage, celebrating how special they were. Dads hand snaked across the leather seats of the back of the car and squeezed my shoulder, fresh unshed tears shone in his eyes, he swallowed, clearly trying to hold back a sob for my benefit. I held his hand, squeezed three times 'I Love You' before looking out of the window again, I had to he strong, emotions are for the weak, crying won't make anything better, I had told myself.

As we pulled up at the church, dad and me got out of the car and went to join the congregation already gathered in the church. Solemn nods greeted us as we walked down the isle, hand in hand, the last of the Lestrades, mum had no brothers, neither did dad, it was just the two of us now. The two of us against the rest of the world.

After around five minutes, I was vaguely aware of the shuffling of feet, people were standing up. This was it. The music started playing, "Angel" by Sarah McLaughlin, echoed around the old and peaceful church. It was painfully haunting but my thoughts were cut short as two coffins were carried down the isle, British flag draped proudly over their roofs. Dad and me didn't move, I don't think we even took a breathe, they were in there, not moving, confined and dead. God dammit why did it happen to them!

The victor talked and talked and I paid little attention, I just kept staring at the coffins, I noticed the vicar nod our way at various times throughout his speech, words like "war hero", "courageous beings", "loved dearly" "true inspirations" were constantly floated about. That angered me, it was as if he was trying to justify gods reasoning for taking them away from us. 

A few minutes later, dad stood up to make his speech, he kept it brief, it wasn't supposed to be brief, the last run through id heard him do lasted a good 10 minutes, but this one was over within a minute, ending with the words "They know how I feel, and they always will" before taking his seat next to me. Next it was my turn, no one expected much from little me, they expected I'd just go up there, mumble a bit then have a breakdown a bit like dad, but no, I'm not like that, I have to be strong.

"We all die, the goal isn't to live forever, but to create something that will. My mum and brother did exactly that, they created a legacy that will continue always. Yes, I miss them, death leaves a heartache that no one can heal, but a memory that no one can take away from me. And I guess, in the end, everyone's life ends the same way, it's only the details of how they lives or how they died that distinguish one man from another, and my brother and mother died heroes. In the end, when somebody you love becomes a memory, that wonderful memory becomes a wonderful treasure that you carry with you always in your heart. Mum and Nico know my message to them, they know that when they died, a big piece of me died and went with them too, so now wherever they go, I will be with them, and they never have to be alone. Never wait until it's too late to tell someone that you love them or how much you care, because when they're gone, no matter how much you shout and cry, they won't hear you anymore. We never lose our loved ones, they simply accompany us wherever we go now, love you mum, love you Nico, see you later"

I finally looked up at the gathered crowd, tears were rolling down people's cheeks, hands were being held, hugs were distributed out, a blonde lady, in the 30's maybe, had her arms wrapped around my dad, that worried me. But I wasn't looking for dad, or mums friends, or Nico's old school buddy's, I was looking for Sherlock, or more importantly, Mycroft. Sherlock caught me eye, much like me, he never cries, but he was, tears were actually rolling down his face, it was new, I didn't want to make anyone cry, but rather make them aware of everything they had and how lucky they were to have it. Next to Sherlock sat Mycroft, he was in a crisp black suit, designer I reckon, I wanted his approval, needed his approval, then I knew I would be alright. I caught his eye, and he was not crying, but simply stating at my eyes, one single nod, that's all he gave, but at that moment, I knew, I knew it was all going to be okay.

Nico and mum were cremated, and together, dad and me drove to the white cliffs of Dover, and set them free once and for all, then we drove back. 

That night, dad stayed with the Holmes' with me, he had his own room, as did I. My room was directly next to Mycrofts, not a problem, until I woke up later that night, around 4am screaming for mum, it was the briefest of screams, I prayed that if I held my breathe, no one would have heard me, I didn't what them to think I was weak. Nobody came. Maybe around 5 minutes later, I heard a knock at my door, shit. "I'm fine" I whispered into the darkness. The door creaked open and through the small gap between the ajar door and the wall, Mycrofts head appeared, "I do not believe you Eve" he announced before walking into my room. 

Nothing happened that night, he walked towards me, sat on my bed, rested his back against the headboard, and opened his arms to me. We laid there, my head on his shoulder with his arm wrapped around my shoulder, and we fell asleep, I finally felt at peace again.


	5. The challenges which determine us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow upload, enjoy!

The next few years were the troublesome years, dad hit rock bottom, and I was the only one left to carry him. He turned to alcohol and cheap one night stands. Before I left for college every morning, I would leave a glass of water and two paracetamol next to his bed, unless he had a 'visitor', then I would let him suffer. 

I would slip silently out of the house, trusty flask of tea as my companion and march towards the school, or as I prefer to call it, living hell on earth. Hell, I mean school, began as I entered through the giant metallic gates, they even had spikes on the top, there really is no escaping hell is there? The journey into school would proceed as I walked through the staff carpark, then through to my form room, form A, at this point we were in year eleven, top of the school, ruling over the peasants. I was in the worst form group. We got twelve new starters through our 5 years of secondary school, and only 4 survived until year eleven without getting bullied out of the form group, I thought they deserved a medal to be frank. I gave up trying to remember who was friends with who and who had fallen out with who at points. Laurel and Paisley were always at each others throats one day, then best friends again the next. Yeah I know, confusing! There was this one guy, Aaron, he was bullied out of form, we used to run around after him like determined spies, eager to find out whether he smoked or not, as it turns out, he did. Nathan, I'm not sure what happened to him, one day he was there, the next day, gone, I reckon he was expelled, Elsie believed he'd been taken by the Mafia, either could be true... 

Sherlock grew more and more distant throughout secondary school, he joined science clubs, which would be great if he wanted to make friends, but instead, he chased the other science kids out of the room, either by setting a Bunsen burner alight and charging at them, or by his mean observations on what puberty has not given them and their lack of a love life. He turned his attention to his crazy curly hair or his deadly devious experiments, the school had to be evacuated one time as the curtain caught fire.... 

Puberty had been almost kind of Sherlock, he grew tall at an alarming rate, suddenly, he could talk to Mycroft whilst looking directly into his eyes, and he towered over me. His hair grew thicker and the curls tamed slightly, he became slimmer, I believe he stopped eating proper meals, his cheekbones became more defined and his voice developed into a low, almost mumble-like tone, highly endearing. The girls would swoon over him, but he was never interested, the only way sherlock would have sex with someone would be if it were for an experiment, but even he would never snoop quite that low. 

Puberty did me a few favours too, I grew slightly, 5ft 6, still shorter than majority of the school, but still tall enough to see out of the car window without a booster seat, also tall enough to apply for Britain and Ireland's next top model... My boobs grew, hardly, but with the help of a decent push up bra, they would jiggle slightly under my over sized school sweatshirt, sherlock obviously deduced the fact I had a push up bra: but I appreciated that he never publicly humiliated me about it. I got hips and a smaller waist, nothing to show off about, but I finally had what was classed as a "woman's body". I lost my chubby face so you could now see my delicate features, brown eyes, which I love, brown eyes are often seen as boring and normal, but I know I am anything but normal, your eye colour does not define you, it's the way you define yourself that matters. My "button nose" as the opticians would call it, and I finally sorted my hair out. Originally, I decided to cut my hair super short you see, it was good fun for a while, but you soon get sick of being called a "boy" by all the dicks at school, one time, I was sat in the school sick bay, and a girl, couple of years younger than me, sharp glasses, snout for a nose and pouty lips looked at me and said and I quote "sorry, but are you a boy or a girl" and without missing a best, I proudly replied, "sorry, are you a pig or a slag", she ran off crying... Anyway, my hair grew, I got a fringe cut in, and my hair was shoulder length, but slightly shorter at the back, it was my natural colour, mucky brown, before, I'd had it died blonde, then my apparent "Natural Colour" which resulted in the hairdressers dying it red, which evidently turned ginger.... I began wearing minimal makeup for school, foundation, blusher, mascara, I had to draw my eyebrows on, no, it wasn't because of one of Sherlocks experiments, I just happen to have really faint eyebrows... 

Mycroft, he was all done with puberty and was a pure man now, he was working in a "minor position for the British government", paperwork, sweeping floors, nothing serious, yet. He also had a mop of curly hair, but he had it trimmed to perfection, neat, but casual. His typical "casual" attire transformed from cropped jeans and tshirts to designer suits and waistcoats. He became cold and harsh to everyone around him, everyone, but me. He growled at his parents, looked down on Sherlock, frowned of my dads way of treating me, but always welcomed me with a smile and an offer of a cuppa tea. I can understand his attitude towards his parents, they have always been anything but supportive of him and sherlock, his attitude towards Sherlock, I can also understand, sherlock constantly addressing Mycrofts weight, or lack of it in my opinion. His attitude towards my father, I also understand, I feel the same way. Drunken bastard. But whenever he sees me, his face loses it's harsh edge, his eyes soften and his lips uncurl and transform into an almost smile, his eyes which are so tired and old beyond his years rejuvenate and become youthful and full of life again in those short few moments, his fists unclench and his shoulders slouch slightly, he trusts me, I won't judge him, and he won't judge me, and it works like that.

I barely have time to grieve for mum and Nico anymore, GCSE's are fast approaching and although I still have no idea what I wish to do in life, school frowns upon this even though I'm only sixteen, it's safe to say I'm panicking about my entire future. I spend all the time I can revising, avoiding my either drink or hungover dad, or his new visiter. I don't cut, although I've heard it's meant to be refreshing and cleansing, I don't see the point, how will I be able to take care of dad if I'm sat on the bathroom floor bleeding half to death.

Prom was fast approaching, had I considered what I might wear, nope! Mum would have had me organised months ago.... I miss my old life, as I lay in bed alone at three am, I realise that at moment like this, the only people I have to talk to are the demons trapped inside my head, them, and the Holmes' boys.


	6. The nights that reassure us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prom night with the Holmes boys 
> 
> And an unexpected letter off Evelyn Lestrades mum

PROM

Secondary school prom came next, I'm was never one for getting fully dressed up, could walk in heels fairly well, mum would never let me wear heels if I couldn't walk properly in them at least... Sherlock and Mycs mum took me out dress shopping a few weeks before prom, the in-thing that year was glitter, sparkle and looking as slut-like as possible, but that's just not me. I ended up with a beautiful bronze dress, floor length and plain, corset like waist- the sort of thing you'd see in the old movies, and a ruffled heart line top, the ruffles, plus the bra fillers I bought on eBay, made me look like I had a rather impressive rack to be honest, I even noticed sherlock observe my assets. The dress was a bargain too, because it was from 'last seasons stock', it only cost £45!! B.A.R.G.A.I.N!

Prom night came around at an alarming rate, dad sobered up enough to realise that it was a special day, I appreciated that, but what I did not appreciate was the little talk that his visitor that he had had over the previous night gave me in the morning

"Your dad loves me"

"He doesn't need you anymore to be loved"

"His wife, your mum, your brother, his son, they all left him"

"It's a shame you didn't leave too"

All this because I offered her a cup of coffee...

We, dad me and the Holmes', all gathered at the Holmes manor, even sherlock got dressed up for prom, bless him. Pictures. So. Many. Pictures, it was chaos, sherlock looked like he was about to flip and table and Mycroft just stood there smirking. Today, I proudly wore my mums engagement ring. First photo, in front of the grand fireplace, "put your arm around her sherlock" his mother would coo, sherlock tensed up further, and nearly curled into a ball when I put my hand on his back... Second photo, in front of a plain white wall, "professional backdrop" Sherlocks dad stated, very professional, "Mickey, jump in the photo", Mycroft looked like he was about to explode with the use of his pet name, I may have giggled a little bit, he may have glared at me a little bit more... Mycroft is a lot more comfortable with body contact and casually slipped his arm right around my waist without having to be told twice, the three musketeers posed together and smiled until our cheeks began to hurt. 

Our mode of transport arrived promptly 10 minutes later. A black, fancy looking car, mustang? Ferrari? Corsa? I don't even know but it was fancy, expensive looking and the lads, minus sherlock, we're practically drooling at the car... Outside of the car, mr Holmes took a photo of dad and me together, later, we will take that to mum and Nico's memorial site and tell them all about the night. Mycroft shook Sherlocks hand and said "enjoy socialising as best as possible, I wish you luck, brother mine" before turning to me and planting a delicate kiss on my professionally made up face, before adjusting one stray curl that had fallen in front of my eyes, it was the most loving gesture anyone had ever given me, and it left me feeling all warm and happy, I smiled at him before ducking into the car with Sherlock. Driving away, I turned around to look out of the rear view mirror, mr and mrs Holmes had already gone inside and Mycroft was just walking towards the door, dad on the other hand, he was still stood on the curb, waving frantically, crying, my dad was crying and clutching a piece of paper, "Turn Around!" I ordered to the surprised driver, but without questioning my motive, which I appreciated as I was a tad unsure of what my motive was, he drove back down the street towards my dad. Before the car had even stopped fully I had jumped out of my seat, opened the door and galloped inelegantly onto the pavement in front of dad, who just held me tight and close to his chest, his heart, beating, frantic, beating, love, beating, broken. He cupped my delicate face in both of his hands and for the first time in too long, he looked me in the eyes. I notice then how much my dad had aged, much like me, in those past few months. He's growing old as I'm growing up, something that mum and Nico will never experience. Dad turned to alcohol to hide his fear, I turned to isolation to hide my fear, all in all, neither one is healthier that the other, so I guess we're even. Gently, he ducks my head down, and kisses me on the forehead before holding a crumpled piece of paper out to me, "befo- before your mum died, sh-she'd erm, written a will you see, and in it she wrote a thing for you, with carful instructions telling me when to deliver it to, er, to you" he said solemnly, "I was instructed" dad continued "to give it to you when I felt that you had matured, into the woman who I know will be okay in the end, who is- who is strong and I am most proud of" dad choked slightly before adding, "and I think you deserve this now more than ever"

Silently, dad handed me the hand written piece of paper. Hand written, mums hand writing. Mum had written this for me, she knew her job was dangerous, hell, even I knew her job was dangerous, but I never expected her to have prepared for her own death at such a young age. Read it now, read it later, that was the question toying with my mind. I ended up tucking it away in my Karen Millan purse before pressing a soft kiss to my dads cheek, leaving a slight hint of my deep red lipstick on his cheek, I'm the only girl he needs, and he's the only man I need, together we are strong. 

After that, we headed to prom. Prom was okay, the food was okay, the music was okay, it was just generally okay I guess. At about eleven sherlock and me ordered a cab home, too much socialising for one night. 

The house was quiet when we got home, Sherlock went straight to bed, not that he would go to sleep, but more likely so he could be on his own for a while again. I on the other had creeped to my room, changed into an oversized T-shirt, some a pair of florally printed shorts and threw a pair of slippers onto my feet before paddling back down the hallway towards the living room, for a while, I just sat there, in the silence, enjoying the overriding feeling of peace and tranquility. There was hardly any traffic where the Holmes' manor was, just trees, so I enjoyed sitting on the overly cushioned coach and listening to the wind whistle through the trees. I must have woken dad up from his sleep as he came through into the living room to join me in the silence. He cautiously wrapped his arm around my shoulder before resting his chin on my head, a hug, an actual hug off my dad, it was a sign that all would be better soon. Dads words broke through the quiet as he asked me, "did you read it?", momentarily I was confused, before remembering, the letter, mums letter! I launched off the sofa and grabbed my purse, there it was, still nearly folded up between my phone and my lipstick. Carefully, I unfolded the paper, mums handwriting was immediately recognisable, her own little squiggle where the words are barely readable.

"Should I read it dad?"

"Why shouldn't you Evelyn?"

"Because when I read it I finally have to accept that they are gone"

Dad sighed before shifting us both so his back was against the arm rest and my back was against his chest. He kissed my hair then reminded me that they were already gone, and that accepting it allows us to move forward. I read the note in my head, but felt it in my heart,

"Dear Evelyn,

If you are reading this then I am so so impossibly sorry. It means that the worst has happened and you have to be stronger now than ever before. Evie I love you, and I am and always will be proud of you, your dad is too. Now, you're not going to have a female influence in your life for a while now, I hope, so I wanted to teach you some things you need to know when becoming an adult and some things you'll learn in life

1\. You will always be loved. Soooo loved! By everyone in your family and so many others.

2\. You have lots of friends – some will stay with you for a lifetime and many will come and go. This is life. Always be the best friend you can be and if it doesn’t work out, don’t make it about you. You’re a really good person.

3\. Love yourself. No one is perfect and we always have something we could be better at; sometimes we make mistakes – learn from them and move on. Take responsibility for your part, resolve to not make the same mistake again and forgive yourself.

4\. Love your body. You are beautiful. You don’t have to be skinny or tall to be beautiful. Beautiful comes in all shapes and sizes. Take care of your body – exercise and eat healthy and you will be beautiful.

5\. Do the best you can in school and don’t worry so much about what your grades are. Believe in yourself. I believe in you, your dad believes in you, and so does everybody else in that list up there of those who love you. You’re going to be great at whatever you choose to do; the only thing you have to do is believe in yourself.

6\. Don’t be afraid to work hard. I know sometimes it sucks to have to work hard at something, but if you can work at it, without giving up, you’ll find it gets easier. I promise. But you can’t give up! You’re only giving up on yourself. I would have never given up on you and neither will your dad.

7\. Don’t stress about the cool kids. The less you care about them, the more they will care about you. Don’t ever do anything just because someone else does it. Trust your gut – it’s a really smart gut and will keep you out of harms way. Don’t worry if the cool kids don’t think you’re cool- it’s not because of you- it’s because they don’t believe in themselves. 

8\. Trust me – you are very cool.  
Don’t be defeated by “no.” You will hear it many times before you hear “yes.” But also know that sometimes no means no and it’s important to respect that. When you respect the no of others, they will respect yours. Learn to know when you should push or when you should respect a “no”. I know it’s confusing now, but with practice you’ll learn to know the difference.

9\. Don’t just be nice to your brother. Be his best friend, his biggest supporter and his most constructive critic. Be the same to yourself. You will be grateful he’s your brother in time and you will both need each other one day. (You need each other now, too!)

10\. You can’t change people. Not men, not your friends, not your father. Accept the ones you want to accept, move on from the ones you don’t (except your mother or your father, of course). You won’t look back, I promise.

11\. When you feel down, find something that makes you happy, listen to music, draw, write a song or a poem. You are very creative and when you are doing something creative, you will find peace and happiness.

12\. Know that you are in charge of you and you can choose to feel any way you want to. It takes work to be your own master – don’t let the thought monsters control you! You can control them! Don’t accept defeat, just keep working at it. Even I struggle with those buggers from time to time. Know that it will all be ok, especially if you love yourself and remember that your dad and I will always love you no matter what!

13\. Don’t believe the negative thoughts and stories that sometimes pop into your head – they aren’t true. Go back and read all of this again- this is the truth!

14\. There will be times when you think you hate me, when you are angry with me and there will have been times when I was angry with you. That’s ok. Be angry, but be honest with yourself and know that even when Iwas angry with you – I still loved you. The love I have for you can never be broken or taken away from you. It is a constant you can always count on.

15\. Please know that I am not perfect, no one is and I have made mistakes, too. I promised to always do my best to recognize those mistakes and work on myself. You were my teacher and I am yours.

16\. You are never alone, nor will you ever be.

17\. I love you

I love you with all my heart. You and Nico are my greatest gifts. I'm sorry to leave you now my love, but my time has come. I am proud of you, and I love you, because everyone says that love hurts, but it doesn't, not really, loneliness hurts, rejection hurts, losing somebody you love hurts, envy hurts. Everyone gets these things confused with love, but in reality, love is the only thing in the world that covers up all pain and makes someone feel wonderful again. Love is the only thing in the world that does not hurt.

 

Xoxo

Mom"

For a while, dad and me just sat there, still, silent, unmoving. His tears effortlessly dropped on to the top of my head, and my tears gently plummeted onto his hand.

This is how we fell asleep that night, dad and me, strong together. 

We fall, we rise, we make mistakes, we live, we learn, we've been hurt, but we are alive. We're human and we are not perfect, but we are thankful...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The majority of the life lessons here I gathered from this website, I teared up a little reading them and figured they went perfectly with the story line- http://thedailylove.com/a-letter-to-my-daughter-you-are-loved/


	7. The Moments That Define Us

College, what can I say, college was, I guess, a giant adventure. On the first day, we all got split up into different faculties. Sherlock and me were actually separated for once in our lives, I grew to miss spending every day with him during lessons. In college he took Chemistry, Science, Physics and Psychology, me on the other hand, History, English Lit, Sociology and Physical Education. We clearly are very different people. I started to mix with new people, sherlock continued to try and burn people with the Bunsen Burners... We repeatedly had our lunches together, just sat in a corridor eating a portion of curly fries between us. We'd still walk the same walk home every night, turn right out of college, turn left after the traffic lights, walk down 6 side streets, turn left, walk through the park, keep walking, keep walking, then you're nearly home. It became a routine, something I would grow to miss and sherlock withdrew further from life. 

Everyone appeared so oblivious towards Sherlocks bright light that was becoming dull through time, he was still intelligent, still grumpy, still shy, but he was also on edge constantly. He stunk of cigar smoke and something slightly more sweet smelling, but surely it wasn't weed?? I would sometimes watch him as he walked to the back of the house to have a sneaky smoke of something. Nobody cared, except me, nobody realised, except me, nobody knew, except me, that Sherlock had started cutting, nobody knew before it was too late and I found him passed out on the bathroom floor. 

It was a Tuesday night after college, we'd both came home, home was officially the Holmes' manor, dad and me moved in after mum and Nico were killed, our apartment was too empty without them. We had tea, then we both went to our respective rooms to revise, with it still being term time, Mycroft was away at university studying politics and working for the government, surely he would have noticed sherlock deteriorating. I could normally hear sherlock working from across the hall, I heard nothing but silence. After 10 minutes I went to his room to check he was okay, I was greeted with emptiness, no sherlock to be seen. So I checked the bathroom. The smell, the smell was the first thing to attack my senses, then the buzzing of a few flies enjoying lapping up his blood, then the taste of vomit at the back of my throat and the sight of Sherlock laying there, unmoving, I must have cried out because the next sense to overcome me was the strong arms of my dad, Greg Lestrade, dragging me away from Sherlocks unconscious body that I had been bent over, holding, trying to stop the bleeding, trying to tell my dying best friend that it would all be okay. I'd lost too many people. I could not lose him. Not now. Not ever.

The emergency services are fast, I applaud them, within one minute of them arriving they had sherlock stabilised and him in the back of the ambulance. The police nodded at dad, then cleaned up the possible scene of crime whilst two detectives, a young Sargent Donovan and an important looking DI, Davison it might have been, escorted us out of the house and to the hospital, where they could quiz me about Sherlock and ensure I was okay. They clearly don't know me very well, of course I'm okay, I'm practically a void when it comes to emotions, they left me a long time ago. 

They asked the most stupid questions  
"How well do you know sherlock"  
"How did you find him"  
"How do you feel"  
"How long have you known"

And my personal favourite question, "Are you and sherlock in a sexual relationship", I actually laughed at that. They didn't find the humour in it.

Sherlocks mum and dad sat at him bedside, it's the first time ive ever actually seen them try and care for him, dad and me, who look after sherlock so much more than them, we're relegated to sit this one out, we sat on the benches just outside his private room, I could see through the window into his room. He was paler than normal, and was wired up to so many machines, he looked like one of his experiments, ready to be prodded and examined. He would despise it. 

Mycroft arrived 20 minutes after sherlock admission and my questioning, he had ran. For such a well put together man, he looked a mess, his top button undone, his tie loose, the front section of his previously perfectly pressed shirt has became undone in his rush, black polished shoes were scuffed and his hair, usually slicked back to control the uncontrollable frizz was now hanging madly just in front of his panicked eyes. Straight away I saw him, or should I sag heard him, running into the ward. He looked af me, straight in the eyes, and that's all he needed, with that look, he knew that Sherlock would be okay, I found him intone. He walked over and embraced me tightly in his arms before kissing the top of my head, releasing me and turning around and entering Sherlocks hospital room.

Sherlock woke up and recovered fully in just a few long days. Word spreads fast and college but sherlock never listened to what anyone said anyway. 

College only lasted two years, before we both passed out A-Levels and took off for uni. We passes college with great grades, I was AAB and Sherlock got AAA. College was a great experience, you meet people, you say hello, you say goodbye, you learn about real life, that at secondary school you were only friends with some people because you were forced to see them 5 days a week... So on my final day of college, I walked down all the corridors memorising everything, the gym, the classroom, the friends desks, and the memories of the years that went all too quickly. Here I was, leaving for the last time, no more coming back on Monday morning for form time, no more thanking The Lord it was finally Friday. No more sleepy classes, no more gym periods, no more falling over laughing with sherlock over one of his stupid science experiments that went badly, no more seeing him between classes. I would miss this. So you know what, I dare you, I dare you to go a whole day with no make up, to bake a batch of brownies then eat them immediately, as many as you want. To tell a bitch how you really feel, to laugh hysterically and not worry about you stupid your face looks, to run around a field with your friends and just scream, to cry, to let it all out, to kiss your crush randomly, to speak out in class, the question in rules, I dare you. 

Everyone is so eager to grow up, but when you're sat at home packing your bags ready for university, when you're wrapping your favourite bedside photo of your family in your Tshirt, you no longer want to grow up, because as we grow up our parents grow old, and I don't ever want to lose my dad. When you start to get old, sleep overs become parties, juice becomes alcohol, sweets become weed, butter knives become razor blades, a grazed knee become a slit wrist, death becomes a trend and love becomes real. 2+2 becomes 2x(5+7)6+6x8(4-2), time outs become detentions, training bras become push up bras, slouchy pyjamas become lingerie, kisses become sex, bikes become cars, society becomes fucked up, everything becomes impossible, trust no longer exists, the nice girls become sluts. We become something we say we never would. And goodbyes become forever, now tell me, do you still want to grow up, because I sure as hell don't.

September came, and dad loaded up my car with my bags, hugged me, kissed me, told me he loved me, before assisting me into the car, closing the door, patting the window and patting the roof as I pulled away from the driver way. I still don't want to grow up, Nico grew up, and Nico died, he was 19 when he died, I'm 19 next year, he's my big brother, I don't ever want to be older than him. 

Sherlock got a taxi to his university, he never wanted to drive, his parents packed up his car, said goodbye by shaking his hand, before they went back inside to finish their cuppa as Sherlocks taxi pulled away from his childhood home, a place he would never chose to return to again.

The end of an era, the end of a chapter in my life, but the beginning of a new one, the beginning of the end.


	8. The friendships which leave us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> University-

At university I studied English, and I studied hard, day and night, the campus library was open till 3am and I would spend most days there. According to the library staff, there we're over 400,000 hard copies of books in the library, to be surrounded by such knowledge was actually incredible. Mycroft had finished university many years before sherlock and me joined, he was slowly but surely working his way up in the rankings of the government, top secret, classified, but he told me what he could and when. Sherlock went off to Cambridge, I went off to Manchester. Sherlock studied science, of course he did! I think sherlock actually made some 'almost' friends, but he would never call them friends, no way, they were more 'associates'. Apparently he would fascinate people by walking into a room and saying who had slept with who the previous night, they all thought it was magic, I just know it's sherlock. 

We make regular phone calls sherlock and me,he told me that people have called him a "freak", but he said his parents always used to call him that anyway so he takes it as a compliment. I wish I were there, I'd like to hurt ever sorry son of a bitch who ever insulted Sherlocks wonderful mind. I miss sherlock, he's always been like a brother to me, protected me, loved me, bullied me, just like a brother, I think he's drifting away from me, just as I am him.   
At university I began to regain a social life again, I got a few friends, we went out, we met guys and girls, we drank, we danced, we exchanged numbers, sometimes, we had sex, we studied, we drank and the list goes on. But no matter what I did, there was always one guy that I simply could not forget, Mycroft, I miss Mycroft.

As the years passed by at university, my calls to sherlock because less frequent and my contact with Mycroft because almost non-existent. I grew to miss the two of them. Sherlock is basically a brother and Mycroft, well I'm not sure what Mycroft is to me, but he holds a place in my heart, a rather large place to he frank. That's the thing about now a days, nobody really says goodbye anymore, it just seems to happen. Everyone just seems to silently disappear right when you need them, they drift away quietly into the distance, they never even give you a reason as to why you guys don't talk anymore. They just leave you hanging there with all these questions still in your mind. What if he doesn't even have the decency to look me in the eyes anymore? What hurts most is that these are all the goodbyes we never said, nobody says goodbye anymore, they just leave with no warning.

I finished one year at university, but it just wasn't enough for me. I wanted to do something more. I needed to be something more. I watch the news every night, now I'm older I understand why dad used to have a can of beer whenever he watched it. During our 3 months off over summer break I decided that university wasn't for me, mum and Nico went to help people and save lives, dad fights crime and saves lives. I want to save lives. 

On August 22nd, I became a Army Medic

That September, I was shipped out to Iraq.


	9. The Diaries That Remember Us

Shots fired. Through the shoulder. Blood. Medic. Help. Survived. Shots fired. Through the head. Nothing to be done. Dead. Shot fired. Through the leg. Blood. Shattered bone. Medic. Bandaged. Survived. Shot fired. Shot fired. Shot fired. Heart. Neck. Temple. Dead on arrival. 

This became my life from the moment I was shipped out to Iraq. Constant war, no rest, I enjoyed saving people, but hated the helpless feeling I would get in my gut when I know a person was too far gone and beyond my help, I made a promise to myself, never forget them. I started a diary, I'd write their names in it, written down so I can never forget that I could not save them. I blame myself. Everybody blames me. The family's of the soldiers we've lost must blame me as they stand, heads bowed, as they watch a loved one being carried in a coffin, Union Jack draped over the crisp white wood, their final goodbyes, their tears, their hatred building up inside. They wish I was trapped in there instead of their child. I'm sorry. 

Blood. Dead. Another. Saved. Dead. Dead. Dead. Saved. My head hurts constantly, I feel ill with the pressure.

I survived the wars for four years. I saved 127 lives, but was unable to save 134 lives, the death toll rose, and the army let me go, "sick leave", but really, it was a gentle way to fire me after all those people died. They assigned me a psychiatrist, "Post Traumatic Stress Disorder" they would mutter. Bull shit. The only thing that is wrong with me is the fact I couldn't save peoples lives. That's the reason for the nightmares. Not a disorder! They don't know what I've been through, they don't know me. But apparently they do, they're read my files, they bring up mum and Nico too often, try to relate my experience to that, the fact that I couldn't save people, just like the nurses trying to save mum and Nico couldn't save them, and I still hate them for it. The doctor suggested that I don't live on my own any more, that I find a friend who can help me, someone I trust, I was back in London now. Dad had moved on and got himself a new girlfriend, 3 years they'd been together and things were finally looking up for him, I'm happy for him, but he's too busy with her and his work now, oh yeah, he's working again now, a detective inspector at Scotland Yard, he did good for himself in the end, no more cheap booze and cheaper one night stands!

Mycroft, well, he is well and truly in the government now, "minor roll" my arse, a person with a minor roll does not get a beautiful assistant and a company car! But he's just protecting people, and he's also too busy for me now, I'd just get in the way. 

Sherlock, he finished university then because a detective, but not like dad, no, a "consulting detective" or something, god knows?! But he's just moved into an apartment on Baker Street, about Mrs Hudson, I met her a few times when I was young, she gave me £2 once because I put out her bins for her. 

After the session with the psychiatrist, little did I know it would be my last session with her, I went back to my stuffy back street apartment above a fish and chip shop, and packed a suitcase of my few belongings, mainly clothes, then headed off in the direction of Baker Street.

I had no idea that upon meeting sherlock again, it would be the death of me.


	10. The Houses That Holmes Us

I knocked 5 times, in a little happy rhythm, thinking happy thoughts about seeing sherlock again, it had been about 4 months since Id last spoke to him, in a way I was glad I would be surprising him!

But what surprised me more was when a short man, mid 40's with sandy coloured hair with a slight limp opened the door for me.

"Sherlock?" I said questioningly out loud  
The stranger raised a busy eyebrow to me, "Do I look like sherlock to you?"  
And this is me, I panic in social situations, so instead of simply asking if I could speak to sherlock, or checking I had the right address, I shrugged and said, "you never know these days, with how good plastic surgeries getting", well done me...

But he laughed, he actually smiled and laughed with me. Thank god. "SHERLOCK" he shouted up the stairs. "John Watson, by the way" the kind man in a ugly jumper and slippers said with an outstretched hand, I gripped the hand and firmly shook it, "Evelyn Lestrade, by the way". And with that, I heard a crash, a thud, a skid, followed by about 12 other thuds, then before I had chance to release johns hand, another pair of arms were wrapped around my middle, lifting me and squeezing me, I giggled and hugged back, patting the unruly strands of curly black hair that were invading my vision. Sherlock. Home. Safety. Eventually he allowed me to stand on my own two feet, that's when I saw him properly, he'd grown even further, now at 6ft, and slimmed down considerably, but he still had his same old boyish charm about him, including the twinkle in the eye. That's when the downstairs door opened, and a nervous looked Mrs Hudon entered the hall way, "Boys, what all the fuss about now my loves, oh my goodness!" She shrieked because embracing me in a mother like hug, something I've craved for so long, and she only let go to put he's hands on my face, I wasn't ever aware that I was crying until I felt Mrs H's thumbs move gently across my cheekbones, I never realised how much I cared for her, but she really is a second mum to me, well, my only alive mum in all honestly, "I'll go pop the kettle on my dear, we need to have a good catch up", although it was tempting, I had too much to sort out. After gently explaining that I had to talk to sherlock, I hugged her once more then followed sherlock and John upstairs, 221B. 

I felt at home as soon as I'd entered the room, the sofa to the far right, the two chairs next to the mantle piece, the bullet holes in the wal- "Sherlock, how the hell do you have possession of a gun?!" I enquired, I saw johns hands start to shake and his limp become more prominent as he strolled through to the kitchen, I recognised him, or I recognised something about him? 

I sat on the left hand chair near the fire place. Johns chair I believe as he came as sat on the arm of it next to me, then sherlock walked in a beat later with three cups of tea. "You making him work now?" I quizzed John, when we were younger, sherlock never did anything, he was so lazy and relied on his peers, John certainly has him under the thumb! 

We chatted for a good hour, then John brought up the suitcase, "you going far?". But sherlock already knew, as soon as I knocked on that door he'll have known my intentions, he'll know my entire life story simply by the way I hold my cup of tea, "John isn't is obvious," started sherlock, "from the unsuitable footwear choice of flip flops shows that she surely could not walk for a long distance in them, then to her knocking of the door, did you notice the rhythm, of course you didn't, the rhythm, it was a happy rhythm, attempting to compensate the huge favour she will shortly be asking us, and the biggest give away, Watson?" Sherlock looked towards John to complete his sentence, but instead, John simply shrugged and rolled his eyes "The suitcase John! The suitcase! So Evelyn, ask away"

I just sat there, Sherlocks gotten better at deducing stuff with age... "Well" I stated "I was wondering if you, erm, well, if I coul-"

"Yes you can flat share with us" sherlock exclaimed, "I'll get Mrs Hudson". To be honest, I wasn't expecting sherlock to patiently walk down to Mrs H's downstairs flat, but at the same time I also wasn't expecting him to start shooting at the walls to gain her attention. A flustered Mrs Hudson came running up the stairs, over gloves and apron finishing off the frantic look, "That's coming off your rent young man!" Exclaimed Mrs Hudson, Sherlock, looking as un-startled as ever simply replied, "Evelyn Lestrade will be moving in to this apartment immediately and will be occupying the ground floor guest room opposite my own bedroom". I couldn't help but just sit there and smile as Mrs Hudson's face erupted into an alive smile and she darted towards me to welcome me home!

I think I'm going to like it here you know


	11. The Nightmares That Reawaken Us

Dead again, the man I was meant to save, dead again, I can't do anything right, but it's not the same man anymore, no, it's a woman now, and a young man, a bomb went off, people shout, I recognise the woman and boy being dragged towards me, they're shouting my name, but how do they know me? It's not possible, I wasn't there. Mum. I need to help her. Nico. I need to help him. They collapsed in front of me, she's crying over the boys body, then she cups my face in her hands. Screaming, no warm welcomes, no, these are nightmares, she screams because I couldn't save her son, there's nothing I could do I repeatedly plea, but before she could forgive me, she collapsed

Screaming, I woke up screaming, I soon shut myself up, they can't know my weakness. Sweating, my skin feels clammy and warm, but I am freezing cold. I pull my cover over my head, my only attempt to hide from the world, I hide the same way I did when I used to cry myself to sleep missing mum and Nico, because I still miss them... 

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, apparently the nightmares are normal, apparently the nightmares will pass, eventually. I hoped no one heard, I don't want people knowing my weakness. But I'm on the same floor as sherlock here, and really he isn't that cold hearted, he's not a monster. Without knocking, sherlock paddled into my room, bare foot, and walked over to my bed, pulled up the covers, and plonked himself down, right next to me. Now, Sherlocks never been so good with physical affection of any sort, so you can imagine my surprise as he confidently wrapped his left arm around my shoulder, and pulled me in to a tight, warm embrace. His right arm circled round my front with the palm of his large hand gently touching my face, his thumb tracing calming patterns on my cheekbones, his head rested effortlessly on my head as he pulled me closer, not too close it's suffocating, but close enough to know I'm safe. I rested my head on his shoulder, and as I took a deep sigh, he gently placed a light kiss to the top of my head. 

At this moment, I finally understand love, I don't love sherlock in a way that I want to have sex with him and marry him, I love him because now when I feel his strong arms wrapped around me, but these brutal arms were safe, and welcoming and home. I've discovered that the best place to be is in the arms of someone who will not only hold you at your best, but pick you up and hug you tight at your weakest moments. 

I slept the best I've slept in a long time that night, the best sleep I'd has since Mycroft cradled me in my sleep many years ago. I felt freed from my demons at last.


	12. The endings which define us

"Lestrade, isn't it obvious?!"

"Apparently not, Sherlock"

"I can see where you got your idiotic jeans from Evelyn!"

"Sherlock!" Dad, John and me all exclaimed simultaneously 

This was becoming a regular occurrence now, turning up at crime scenes, getting insulted, turning up at another crime scene the next day just to get insulted more, the unflappable Sherlock Holmes has been flapped by this Moriarty figure. 

The night after meeting The Woman, I went to meet Mycroft at his office, where we both nearly died. 

I was sat at the other side of Mycrofts desk, facing him as he worked through his monstrous amount of paperwork, and I sat on my laptop, working through finances. A call came through to his office phone, which he put on speaker, "security" he mouthed to me, to which I simply nodded

"Sir, code red, get to safety sir, this is a code red"

Mycroft causally looked at his computer monitor, and witnessed 4 of his security guards at the main entrance of his office get cold heartedly shot, this was all Mycroft needed to know, armed, ruthless, dangerous, deadly. Throwing open his office draw, Mycroft took out two hand guns, loaded both, and passed one to me before grabbing me ferociously by the hand and pulling towards the inside wall of the building 

"Shouldn't we be finding a way out of here, not cornering ourselves?!" I exclaimed angrily, he did not respond, but instead, moved a vase from the fireplace, turned it round, and entered 4 digits onto the back of it, this then opened a small doorway through the heart of the fireplace and into a neat hall way, through which we could watch the Drama unfolding in Mycrofts previously calm office. But instead of just standing still and waiting for the criminals to leave, Mycroft takes aim from through the wall, and I follow his lead. He shoots the first square in the head, and I shoot a second in the neck, but by this time, the other two baddies have figured out they are not alone. I manage to take out the third but as Mycroft shoots the fourth, a bullet from fourths gun had already been lodged into his upper chest, just below the shoulder. I call for medical assistance immediately. Blood. Stay awake. Can't leave me. Not now. Apply pressure to the wound. Just like those soldiers, I saved people, I can do it again. Keep him talking. Keep him awake. After an incredibly short amount of time, a medical team arrive and eagerly place Mycroft on a stretcher, I follow at a quick pace behind the team as they wheel him in to the ambulance. I went to jump in behind them, but they almost refused me, but before Mycroft passed out, he said 2 words, just two simple words, but they gave me hope, and they always will give me hope 

"My Love"

Upon arrival at the hospital, mycroft was scurried away into surgery, leaving me to mope around in the private waiting area, just outside of where his surgery would occur and where he will soon be recovering. 

After half an hour of waiting, my dad arrived, he saw me, red puffy eyes and messed up hair, and paced over to me, knelt in front of me, and embraced me in a proper dad hug, strong, warm, safe. His wedding ring shines, much like his eyes do now, in the light. He and his wife got married, nobody but dad and her were present, not her kids, not me, but for them it was perfect. Dad stayed silently with me whilst the surgery was occuring, John and Sherlock came rushing by half an hour later and John came straight to assist me in any medical needs, checking I wasn't suffering from shock and such like, whilst sherlock sat opposite me, a frown forming between his inelegant eyebrows.

Three hours later, Mycroft was finished with surgery and placed in a neat hospital room, in which I sat, at his bedside, for four straight days, before he was released on bed rest. 

A few weeks later, things got strange, and they kept getting stranger through the next two years. We encountered a strange, small man. Dark hair, darker personality. Irish accent and a slight constant arrogant smirk. Meet James Moriarty. He is the reason I am now laid in a hospital bed, and Sherlock jumped off St Barts.

Coffee with Mycroft in a small caffe, lovely weather, so we sat outside. Casual conversation, until a scream rung out from somewhere deep inside the cafe, before I had chance to react, darkness overtook me.

Now i lay in hospital, looking back through my life, my life flashing before my eyes you could say. I'm in a coma, have been for about a week now, they're going to turn the machine off any minute, but I can still sense him there next to me, Mycroft is sat there, holding my hand, kissing my palm, tears are cascading down his face and down my arm, I'm sorry my love, I didn't want to do this to you. Turns out Moriartys snipers were called off as Sherlock jumped, but my sniper dude just didn't get the message on time. There's someone else in the room though, he shouldn't be here, according to what Mycroft was telling my dad earlier when he was visiting, he died on the pavement he hit, but he's standing at the foot of my bed, sherlock, saying goodbye, he stroked my hair, then my face, then kissed my cheek, "thank you Evelyn, it has been an honour and privilege knowing you for so many years" before nodding, and walking back towards the window he must have entered from, goodbye sherlock, I won't see you up there. Dad must still be sat outside the room, I know he would never leave, I hope he's going to live a good, long and happy life with him new wife, he deserves the best, because he's only ever really had the worst in life. I'll miss him, but I hope I won't see him too soon in heaven, because that'll have meant he gave up, and died, and I know my dad is stronger than that, but we shall meet again one day! I'm sure of it, and I look forward to it.

I can feel myself going now, the steady beep. beep. beep. of hrs machinery is slowing to a stop, I don't know why people fear death actually, I'm not alone, the darkness of life is leaving me and a new light is welcoming me home, mum, Nico, they're saying hello to me. Here I am at peace.

Goodbye, Mycroft, goodbye my love, I wish you a long and happy life


End file.
